


turn the white snow

by heartunsettledsoul



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Smut, gird your loins i guess, self-assured jug is the best jug, there's smut now so, winter cabin au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-01-23 03:16:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12497464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartunsettledsoul/pseuds/heartunsettledsoul
Summary: Betty borrows the Lodge's winter cabin to hide away and get her work done. When a storm hits, she's stranded in the snow with her neighbor, Jughead Jones. As you can imagine, things heat up. Inspired by this fic moodboard by thiscaringlark: http://thiscaringlark.tumblr.com/post/166617261447/fics-i-want-to-read-betty-a-freelance-writer





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Cue me having White Winter Hymnal stuck in my head until January. (It was surprisingly hard to find a good snowy/winter song for title inspiration.) Location inspo from where my extended family had a house growing up and because I miss the Adirondacks something fierce post-grad. 
> 
> I saw this fic moodboard (http://thiscaringlark.tumblr.com/post/166617261447/fics-i-want-to-read-betty-a-freelance-writer) and couldn't resist. I hope I can do it some justice. This is my first multi-part au, so please be gentle.

“Betty!” 

An exasperated voice snapped Betty Cooper out of her exhausted stupor. She blinked sheepishly up at her best friend, the annoyance very apparent in Veronica Lodge’s voice “I invited  _ you _ to brunch, not your sleeping body.” 

Apparently Betty had started to nod off mid-conversation. She grasped the warm mug in front of her and took a large gulp of latte before speaking. “I’m awake, I swear,” she said, shaking her head vigorously to clear away the last dregs of sleepiness. (They didn’t go away.)

“I sincerely hope you’re asleep standing up because you had some hot piece in your bed last night, that is the only excuse I will tolerate.” Veronica smirked salaciously into her bellini and Betty rolled her eyes. 

“ _ No, _ my damn neighbors are renovating their kitchen and their work crew has decided that the day starts at 5am and finishes at midnight. So by the time it’s finally quiet enough to sleep, I’m already wired. I haven’t slept more than four hours in a row for the past week.” Betty sighed and downed the rest of her latte, then captured the attention of their waitress to order another. 

“You poor thing, why don’t you just come stay with me until the construction is over? You know Cheryl and I have plenty of extra space.” 

This was true: Veronica and her partner Cheryl shared a luxurious duplex on the upper west side of Manhattan. Betty was fairly certain the guest room she stayed in on nights when she was too exhausted (or too drunk) to go home was nearly twice the size of her studio in Brooklyn. And as much as Betty enjoyed her brief forays into the pair’s wild, trust-funded lives, it was a distracting world to live in. 

“I’ve got a deadline next week,” Betty sighed. “Otherwise, I would. But you know I can never get any work done when I’m at your place.” 

Veronica pouted, but didn’t argue. Even she knew better than to beg for girl time when her best friend had writing deadline. Betty made her living as a freelance writer by hibernating for several weeks at a time, writing furiously, and then emerging from her apartment to take a week or so off after finishing several articles in a row. It wasn’t the most exciting  lifestyle, but it worked for Betty--much to Veronica’s chagrin. She loved Cheryl, but missed her best friend fiercely when she retreated into her writing cocoon. 

“What  _ if…” _ Veronica needled sweetly. 

Betty raised an eyebrow, recognizing the tone that usually meant Veronica was about to offer up some absurd amount of money or extravagant gift or kidnap Betty and bring her to a private island in the caribbean. 

“What if you borrowed the family cabin for a few days? My parents are off skiing in France, so no one is up at our house in the Adirondacks. It’s fully stocked for the winter already, so you wouldn’t even need to leave! Perfect for hunkering down to finish your last article  _ without  _ construction insanity or me trying to drag you to Barney’s.” The satisfied smile Veronica finished with meant that she knew she’d found the perfect solution and Betty couldn’t help but agree. It did sound like the ideal option. 

It was certainly preferable to the sounds of sawing and hammering for twenty-one straight hours. 

“That actually sounds amazing, V. Thank you so much!” Betty almost wanted to cry in relief knowing she might get a full night’s sleep in the next couple days. 

“And I’ll even let you rent your own car because I know you’ll fight me if I try to give you the Lexus.” 

“I’ll cheers to that,” Betty laughed, raising her latte. 

 

By the end of their brunch, Veronica and Betty had hashed out all the logistics. Betty would spend that night with Veronica and Cheryl to pick up the cabin keys and at least get a solid amount of sleep before driving the four hours up to the Adirondack park‒‒that much Veronica did not give her a say in. Then Betty would get the lodge cabin in Old Forge, NY, to herself for as long as she needed to finish her article; Veronica insisted on the unlimited time frame, though Betty knew she would only need about three days. She’d be leaving the city on a Friday morning and made the mental plan to be home by Tuesday night. 

Veronica had other ideas in mind. “Maybe you can seduce our hot, recluse neighbor and have a million little blonde lumberjack babies,” she shrieked over her fourth glass of wine later that night. 

“ _ Maybe _ ,” Betty countered, pulling the glass from her friend’s hand to stop the dark red liquid from sloshing on the carpet, “You can stop trying to set me up with every guy with a pulse.” 

“Probably for the best, that guy is cute but he is  _ not  _ much of a talker.” Cheryl was lounging on the couch opposite Betty, and she tossed her long red mane of hair over her shoulder before reaching to finish off Veronica’s wine. “Although maybe you two can use weird, companionable silence as foreplay. I’m pretty sure he’s some sort of a writer, too.” 

Betty chose not to respond, but made a mental note. It was always fun to talk to fellow writers, if only to hold a conversation about her work with someone of the opposite sex for longer than an “oh so you work from home,” followed by a lewd comment. At the very least, he might be willing to let her bounce ideas off him, especially since Veronica told her there was pretty terrible cell reception in the house so Betty wouldn’t be able to reach her editor without going into town. 

Then again, if he was a recluse and lived up in the woods year-round, maybe he wasn’t going to be thrilled to be bothered by freelancer from Brooklyn.

Either way, Betty felt marginally better that there would be another living being nearby in case of any issues. She did not feel too comfortable to be sans cell service in an unfamiliar place--but she was in desperate need of sleep and time to write, so she would have to suck it up. 

Veronica was still going on about flannel and foreplay when Betty excused herself to bed, feigning a yawn that turned into a real one halfway through. 

 

The clerk at the rental car office had upgraded Betty to an SUV when he heard where she was going and she hadn’t thought anything of it until mountains and snow came into view about three hours into her drive. It was breathtaking: snow lined the edges of pine trees that looked like skyscrapers and enormous mountains lay behind icy rivers that wound alongside the roads she drove on. Betty wasn’t one for spending much time in the wilderness, but this drive was starting to change her mind. 

Or it had been until the snow started. With half an hour left according to her GPS, big fat snowflakes started falling and Betty couldn’t get the windshield wipers to clear them fast enough. She was just starting to panic when the directions gave her a left turn down a fairly crooked road and the snow stopped as suddenly as it started. She muttered a silent thank-you to the rental car clerk as she inched slowly down the unpaved road and turned up a dual driveway. 

Right away, Betty knew which one was the Lodge’s cabin. It looked out of place in its enormity and opulence, like someone had yanked it right out of the Hamptons and dropped it there. The one next door was much more Betty’s speed and she assumed it belonged to the (hot) writer. It was a small, cottage-style home beautiful wooden siding and bright blue shutters. A porch swing covered in snow-dusted pillows swayed in the breeze and a beat-up red truck sat parked in the drive.  _ That  _ was what Betty had imagined when Veronica offered up a cabin in the woods: quaint and cozy and cleared well-loved and lived-in. The shaggy head of a sheepdog popped up in one of the front windows, clearly peering out to see what stranger drove into his owner’s yard. An excited, muffled whine escaped the dog and Betty smiled, waving ridiculously at him. 

She turned back to the rental car, digging around for the bags that had fallen to the floor when she braked too hard. She was just leaning farther in, trying to grasp the handle of her laptop bag when the muffled whining from the dog became decidedly less muffled and she heard a slamming door. In an instant, the dog bounded across the snowy yard and headbutted Betty’s lower back, knocking her face first into the backseat of the car. 

“Hot Dog! Hey! Get your ass back over here.” Another slamming door and a gravelly voice rang out through the silence. 

The sheepdog, presumably Hot Dog, was too busy sniffing around Betty’s ass to listen to his owner’s command. Betty was still flattened out across the SUV’s backseat, trying to catch her breath after having the wind knocked out of her. 

Mortified, Betty clamored to her feet, trying not to think too hard about the hot neighbor’s first impression of her being her dog slobber-covered backside. When she spun around, Hot Dog’s nose went straight into her crotch and she flushed. 

“Oh Jesus,” muttered the guy, lunging forward and grabbing the dog by his collar to yank him back. “Some manners you have, you maniac.” 

“You know, usually, I require at least dinner and a drink before I let anyone’s nose go that far south.” The quip slipped out before Betty could even pause to think for a moment and she immediately slapped a hand over her shocked mouth. Dear  _ god,  _ what a way to introduce herself. 

The man in front of her seemed equally stunned by the comment. Veronica and Cheryl had been right, he  _ was  _ hot. Obviously not planning to run outside in the snow, he had a gray and blue flannel tied around his waist and above it wore only a sleeveless undershirt. He wasn’t body-builder buff, but his chest and arms were clearly defined. His muscles looked strong and lithe, and Betty let her eyes linger much longer than was appropriate before raising to meet his. His angular face was still in momentary shock from Betty’s poorly-timed joke, but there was a sparkle in his dark eyes that spread to the rest of his expression as he threw back his head in laughter. 

His dark hair flopped back into his eyes when he finally stopped laughing and Betty felt the bizarre urge to lean forward and brush the curl out of the way. It had escaped from beneath a dark gray beanie that vaguely resembled a crown. It was an odd choice but suited him somehow. Betty realized she was still staring when he stuck out his free hand to shake hers.

“I’m guessing you’re Veronica’s writer friend?” Betty grasped his hand with her own, but clearly the confusion she felt was visible on her face. “She emailed to say you were coming up for a few days,” he elaborated. “Something about not wanting me to call the cops if a  _ stunning blonde looked like she couldn’t get the deadbolt open.”  _ The tonal air quotes were obvious and Betty wanted to kill Veronica. 

“That’d be me,” she answered sheepishly. “My neighbors are gutting their kitchen and I have a deadline that waits for no loud construction project. I’m Betty.”

“Jughead,” he said in response. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“I’m Jughead. Trust me, the real thing is much worse. And you’ve obviously met Hot Dog already.” Jughead scratched the dog’s ears and Betty couldn’t help but notice he had very nice hands. 

_ Get a hold of yourself, Cooper,  _ she admonished herself. “We’re well-acquainted.” 

A particularly strong gust of wind blew through and Jughead shivered visibly. He started tugging Hot Dog back in the direction of his front door. “I’ll leave you to it,” he said. 

Betty shifted her weight to hoist her bags from the car. “Nice to meet you,” she called to his retreating (and well-defined) back. 

Before shutting his door behind him, Jughead turned his head to smirk in her direction. “I owe you dinner and a couple drinks, Betty. See you around.” 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, you guys I am so blown away by the positive response to part one. Y'all are so sweet and incredible. 
> 
> Many thanks to the lovely jandjsalmon for beta'ing.

The Lodge’s winter home (she _refused_ to call it a cabin, it was positively enormous) was a godsend for Betty. Once she had finally gotten over the intense embarrassment of her first interaction with Jughead, she settled into one of the rooms—this one was at least three times the size of her studio— and set up her workspace.

The woods that surrounded the house were blissfully quiet and Betty was immensely grateful to Veronica for extending the offer. She shot her a quick text before getting to work— _arrived in one piece, thanks so much again!—_ and promptly ignored the immediate response of _did you meet hot neighbor yet?_

She had indeed met the hot neighbor, but Betty was still doing her best to pretend that first interaction hadn’t happened. Her wry sense of humor did not always expose itself in the form of inappropriate oral sex jokes upon meeting an attractive guy, so naturally that had been exactly what happened. Hopefully, there would be an opportunity to rectify the mortifying first impression in the coming days. Jughead had seemed friendly enough and even Betty, who hadn’t had a love life to speak of ages for favor of her work, had to admit that he was more than easy on the eyes.

Shaking her head in an effort to clear it of any more thoughts of Jughead, his muscles, or her terrible joke, Betty settled into a cushioned chair in front of an ornate rolltop desk and got to work. Thankfully, she had finished  the grunt work for this particular article — transcribing the half dozen interviews she’d conducted—when she was still in the city. That much she could get done amid the construction noise, and now Betty could concentrate solely on writing with only wind and chirping birds in the background.

 

The next time Betty looked up from her computer screen, the room had grown dark around her. A quick glance out the window told her the sun was setting, leaving a glorious trail of cotton candy skies in its wake. She pushed back from the tabletop and stretched, relishing in the pops of her spine as she released the tension from her body. With a particularly loud crack of her neck, Betty knew she had to do something to move her body around, lest the hours sitting in the car and at the desk settle too deep into her already aching joints.

By the looks of it, there wasn’t much time before the remainder of light in the sky disappeared completely, so Betty quickly changed into running gear and exited the house for a brief run around the very small neighborhood. If she ran along the route the GPS had taken her to the house from the main road and circled back, she could manage a couple miles before darkness settled over the woods.

The cool winter air was a shock to her senses after sitting in the warmth all day, but it woke her up and stretching her limbs felt great. By the time she made it back to the driveway, there was very little light left, save for the glow of the porch lights of both houses. Betty glanced at Jughead’s porch, briefly wondering if she should make an attempt at less awkward second impression. She didn’t have to wonder long, because Jughead appeared in the doorway seconds later, as though he’d read her mind. As he exited, she noticed that he had on the crown-shaped beanie again and a real jacket on this time; hopefully the lack of very toned arms would make her sound like less of an idiot. Hot Dog was mercifully on a leash this time, but that didn’t stop the excitable dog from straining against it in an effort to greet Betty.

His yanking against the leash caught Jughead by surprise and he nearly dropped the beer bottle that was in his other hand as he skidded through the snow to stop the dog from tackling Betty again.

“Hi, Hot Dog,” Betty laughed, keeping him at arm’s length but still patting him on his very shaggy head. She looked up at his owner, hoping the smile she flashed him was somewhere between _just friendly_ and _a little flirtatious_. “Hey, Jughead.”

The smile she got in return made her flush, and she was grateful the cold air had already turned her cheeks red. He was devastatingly handsome and the hint of a smirk underneath the smile was enough to make Betty certain the foot-in-mouth joke from earlier hadn’t been too off-color for him. That was a good sign, at least. “Hey, Betty. Once again, apologies for my dog’s atrocious people skills.”

She giggled and knelt down to scratch behind Hot Dog’s ears. “That’s okay. We’re just really good friends now, right buddy?”

Jughead smirked again and Betty’s stomach flip flopped and she straightened up.“How’s the writing going?” he asked.

“Much better with this peace and quiet, thankfully.”

Jughead took a pull from his beer and gestured vaguely behind him. “I’ve always found it much easier to get work done up here than anywhere else. There’s something calming about only having to interact with nature when you’re on a deadline.”

“Veronica mentioned you write, too?” He met her eye as she spoke and Betty wished she would stop blushing like a sixteen-year-old. She was probably safe under the cover of nightfall, but she had a feeling he could tell that she was a little flustered by him.

“On my better days, yes. I’m a novelist.”

“Anything I might have read?”

“Only if you’re a fan of heavy-handed nature metaphors in crime novels.”

Betty laughed. “Oh, but those are my favorite kind. Everyone needs a good line about rivers imitating life in the middle of a grizzly murder mystery.”

“Touché,” he chuckled.

Much as Betty wanted to continue talking (and flirting), the small strip of bare skin above her socks was starting to feel a little numb. “I should probably head back in,” she said. “Not quite used to this kind of cold.”

“It definitely has an adjustment period,” Jughead laughed. He looked pointedly at her thin running coat. “Though usually, a solid coat helps.”

Betty blushed. Again. “I’ll remember that tomorrow.”

“See you later, Betts.”

The nickname caught her off-guard and send a warm shiver down her spine. Betty rested her head against the front door when it closed behind her, sighing. He was very charming for a recluse.

 

Betty woke up the next morning finally feeling rested. She had made a lot of progress on her article the previous day, so she felt comfortable enough taking a leisurely morning to cook breakfast from the fully-stocked fridge and go for a longer run around the town. There were no more interactions with Jughead, but Betty did hear some muffled barking when she left for her run and she smiled.

She’d taken the opportunity to look him up the night before, hoping to suss out what novels he had written. There were no recent crime novels published by anyone named _Jughead,_ but she had found a few glowing reviews for a book called _Out of the River_ by “critically-acclaimed newcomer, J. Jones.” Now she knew why he had appreciated her crack about the river: his first novel told the haunting story of a teenage boy who washed up in the river of a small town, and the seedy underbelly of the town that was exposed as the murder came to light.

Betty now had plans to pick it up from her local bookstore once she got back to the city. It sounded like an amazing read. She was also dying to have another conversation with Jughead Jones, who even in his author photo, wore the gray knit beanie she’d seen on him the day before. A small part of her was tempted to call up Veronica to see if she knew any more tidbits of information on her neighbor, but Betty knew she would never heard the end of it if she did. Better to save that conversation for when she wasn’t staying next door to the guy Veronica was very clearly trying to set her up with.

She’d received several more texts from her well-intentioned friend:

_He’s good looking for a lumberjack, right??_

_You have to have met him by now. I want play-by-plays!_

_I know you’re ignoring me! He’s not your usual type but you would have the most BEAUTIFUL CHILDREN_

Betty placated her with _yes, we’ve met and yes he’s cute, now shut up_ and she received a string of heart and confetti emojis.

She tried very hard not to think about Veronica’s “beautiful children” comment when she and Jughead overlapped for another brief moment while she was finishing her run and he was taking Hot Dog out for a walk. They exchanged friendly smiles and waves, and Betty dodged an excited lunge from the sheepdog.

When she eventually got back to her laptop, Betty decided to settle into one of the many comfortable couches. Thinking back to Jughead’s comment about the area being calming, she picked one that faced a window so she could have the sky in her periphery and got to work. It happened to face the side yard between the Lodge’s mini-mansion and Jughead’s house, so she was gifted with the entertaining side show of a particularly one-sided game of fetch wherein Jughead wound up grabbing the tennis ball for Hot Dog when the distractible dog lost focus.

Betty was incredibly surprised when, much later that afternoon as she was putting the final touches on her initial draft, Jughead once again reappeared in the yard with his flannel tied around his waist. He was clearly working up a sweat by chopping a _lot_ of wood. Apparently Veronica hadn’t been kidding with her lumberjack comments. Betty tracked the arc of the axe he swung over and over, thoroughly distracted by the repeated flex of his muscles. When he paused to catch his breath, he turned in her direction. Betty quickly fixed her eyes back on her laptop and tried to look deep in thought, though she bit her lip and was blushing furiously. Meekly, she looked up again and noticed a smirk in her direction before Jughead picked the axe back up and returned to work.

Sighing, Betty picked up her phone and texted Veronica. _Okay, FINE, he is thoroughly hot._

Within thirty seconds of the message, Betty’s phone rang.

“Told you so,” Veronica sing-songed through a slightly static-y connection.

Betty sighed again. “Yes, yes I know.”

“What finally got you to acknowledge this? Abs, arms, or face?”

“All of the above?” Betty giggled. “He’s out chopping wood right now and I can see him from the window.”

“Ooo la la.” Veronica trilled. “And you just _so happen_ to be sitting near a window that looks into his yard while you’re supposed to be working. Uh huh. Sounds very plausible, my dear.”

“You can’t see me, but I am totally rolling my eyes. And come on, yes he’s cute, but I’m here to finish my article and then come home, V. Nothing’s gonna happen in the span of three days.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, B. I have high hopes.” It sounded like Veronica said something else, but the static became more pronounced and then a beep told Betty the call had dropped. Not that she had wanted to listen to Veronica meddle in her love life more anyway.

Another glance out the window revealed some whirling snowflakes and no more axe-swinging Jughead. A knock at the front door startled her. Assuming it was Jughead, Betty gave herself a quick once-over in the mirror to make sure she wasn’t into full freelance troll mode before padding over to the door. Not in her best form, but at least she had put a pair of leggings after her shower instead of getting back into her ratty sweatpants she used as pajamas. When she opened the door, Betty was mildly disappointed to see that Jughead had put his flannel back on. She might have imagined it, but it looked like Jughead gave her a similar once-over before saying anything, his gaze lingering on the tight fabric over her legs.

 _Good call on the leggings, I guess_ , she thought. “Hey Jughead, what’s up?”

He cleared his throat and brought his eyes back up to meet hers. “Oh, uh, hey. Hi. I usually chop extra wood for the Lodges and leave it around back for them. I just wanted to warn you in case you saw someone creeping around the yard for no reason.”

“Oh, okay. No problem.”

A slightly awkward silence fell between them. Betty chewed on her bottom lip, willing herself to say something cute or witty.

“Can I get you tea or coffee or something,” she finally asked. “It looks like it’s freezing out there.”

Jughead smiled and she tried not to go weak at the knees. “Rain check?” he asked. “I want to take Hot Dog for another walk before this snow gets too heavy.”

A warm glow spread through Betty’s body. It wasn’t a no. “Sounds like a plan.”

Jughead smiled again and started backing down the front steps. “Stay warm, Betty,” he said, before rounding the corner of the porch and disappearing into a swirl of snowflakes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, please let me know your thoughts! ao3 emails are the sweetest kind of validation. 
> 
> find me on tumblr under the same handle.


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a hot minute because I was thoroughly distracted by life and 2.05 but we're back! a sincere thank you to everyone who's been reading and commenting and sharing. it means the world to me.  
> and an infinite thank you to jandjsalmon for being my ever-encouraging beta.

When Betty woke up, she was  _ cold.  _ Way colder than she should have been. She tried to burrow further into the fluffy comforter on the Lodge’s guest bed. It didn’t work. Moving as quickly as her chilled body would allow, Betty crept out of the bed and pulled on her wool socks and fleece hoodie. A quick peek through the curtains revealed nothing but a white vortex and tree branches whipping in the wind. 

There was a small degree of light that revealed it was probably morning. The digital clock on the nightstand was blank and flipping the light switch did nothing. Well,  _ fuck.  _ Somewhat frantically, Betty snatched up her phone. It was still plugged in but no charging symbol, and she was not connected to wifi. There was no service.  

It was 10:23am and Betty was truly screwed. 

Thinking quickly, she piled on as many warm layers as she could. Two of her scarves, her jacket on top of the fleece, and a second pair of socks. There was a neat pile of chenille blankets with a large open weave sitting on a beautiful, decorative bench in the hallway. Scoffing at the lack of blankets that would actually help someone retain body heat in this remote upstate New York town, Betty tossed one around her like a shawl anyway. She needed to hatch a plan. She was certainly concerned about the lack of heat, but there was — to her — the more pressing matter of needing to edit her article on a laptop whose battery tended to fritz out when not plugged in for too many hours in a row. 

“Shit, shit,  _ shit,”  _ she muttered, starting to pace around the living room. At the very least, she would pace herself warm. The deserted country roads she drove in on did not instill a confidence that large power company trucks drove through there too often. It was possible the Lodge’s owned a generator, but she wouldn’t even know where to start to get it running. She could start a fire, Jughead had mentioned firewood the previous day, but Betty had quit the Girl Scouts before they had taught her appropriate camping skills. The last thing Betty wanted to do was light the Lodge’s house on fire because she didn’t know how to properly start a fire. 

So she kept pacing. 

Luckily, the kitchen stove was gas-powered, so after digging through drawers for matches, Betty turned on the tea kettle. She needed something warm and caffeinated. 

Her options were limited. Limited in that her only option was to suck it up and go next door to Jughead’s for help. She  _ really  _ hated the idea of being a damsel in distress but she had to admit that she was way out of her element. Plus she was just so damn cold. 

If she had to go full damsel, she at least needed to not look like a mess. When she glanced in the hallway mirror, Betty saw the enormous bags under her eyes that hadn’t faded even with a few solid nights of sleep. The pile of scarves and blankets also made her look a little like a babushka.  _ Breathe, Cooper, take a chill,  _ she told herself. It wasn’t like her to get all giggly and school-girl-crush over a guy. Then again, her last date had been five months ago, and it had been with a financial analyst who she’d run out of conversation topics with before their drinks made it to the table. He’d asked her out at her favorite coffee shop and she hadn’t returned to it since for fear of another awkward encounter. She missed their lattes. 

Jughead was ...something else. It wasn’t just that he was incredibly good-looking, though that certainly didn’t hurt. And god,  _ that smirk.  _

Blushing and trying not to think about the things she would do for that smirk, Betty quickly cleaned herself up in an attempt to look at least a little presentable. If she was going to flirt while wearing eight layers of clothing, she needed to brush her hair. And maybe put on mascara. 

She was in the middle of an existential crisis over whether eyeliner was too much — _god, you’re in the middle of the woods who even cares. Yes, but he is_ jacked _and sweet and writes and a little cat-eye never hurt anybody_ — when a muffled knocking broke through the silence. 

Jughead’s voice sounded distant through the door but still made her blush. Decision made about the eyeliner. 

“Hey, Betty? It’s Jughead from next door. Are you up?”

The gust of wind that pushed through when Betty opened the front door nearly bowled her over. Jughead grabbed onto her forearm to steady her and she blushed. He also seemed to be dressed in about a dozen layers, but his ears were uncovered and pink from the cold beneath the crown-shaped beanie that didn’t quite come down far enough. 

Chastising herself once again for acting like a fourteen-year-old with a crush, Betty took a steadying breath and straightened her spine. She was  _ not  _ thinking about knocking that beanie off and dragging him inside by the collar of his worn sherpa-lined jacket. Definitely not. 

“So, no power. Which I’m sure you noticed.” 

Betty laughed. “Not being able to feel my toes was a bit of a giveaway, yes.” 

“I know you’re working so I figured I’d offer to get a fire going for you or check around for a generator. I, uh,” he fidgeted slightly, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I also already have one over at my place and this house is so huge it might take ages to heat up. So if you wanted to just come over, that works too.” 

“Only if Hot Dog can keep his paws to himself,” she teased. 

For the briefest of moments, Jughead’s stormy blue eyes scanned up and down Betty’s body, focusing on her lips just a fraction of a second longer than was appropriate. He smirked, “No promises.” 

Oh man, was she in for it. “Let me grab some of my work shit and I’ll be right over.” 

 

Jughead’s home was almost exactly what you’d expect of a man living with just his dog in the middle of the woods: full of worn leather furniture, a little musty, and a lot of flannel. There were a couple of human touches Betty hadn’t expected, like the large framed photo of Jughead with his arm around a young woman in a graduation gown whose eyes were so similar it could only be his sister or the miscellaneous lit candles littered across the coffee and side tables. A haphazard stack of video games piled on top of an xbox, the neat little basket of dog toys embroidered with Hot Dog’s name, and an enormous golden espresso machine on the kitchen counter. None of it screamed “loner lumberjack,” and Betty was secretly glad for it. All the best ones had layers. 

Betty looked at the espresso wistfully and Jughead followed her gaze. “All I’ve got for now is old school pour-over, but I’ll make you something with that beast when the power’s back.” 

“I don’t discriminate when it comes to coffee,” she said, settling into the corner of couch closest to the warm glow of the fire and setting her laptop on the adjacent side table. 

From the kitchen, Jughead chuckled. “A woman after my own heart.” Another blush crept up her cheeks and Betty chastised herself yet again for acting like a complete moron. It’s not like she had never been around attractive guys before, there was no logical reason for her to continually melt into a puddle any time he opened his mouth. It was just something about his disarming smile and the fact that he was someone who clearly didn’t give two shits about social norms. He was a best-selling author who preferred to live by himself in the woods and Betty couldn’t fault him for that. It was akin to her method of holing up in her apartment to write and only emerging on occasion: people were exhausting and the world was far too chaotic to deal with on a regular basis. 

A mug of steaming coffee appeared in front of her nose and Betty smiled gratefully. There was a brief brush of skin on skin when she took it from his hands and this time it was Jughead who turned a little pink, just around the ears. A satisfied smile crept over Betty’s face -- maybe she was affecting him just as much. 

Clearing his throat noisily, Jughead sat in the armchair across from Betty with his own cup of coffee. Hot Dog finally stopped sniffing around Betty’s legs and moved to curl up between the hearth and Jughead’s feet. It was a remarkably peaceful scene and Betty was starting to see the draw of this kind of simplicity in life. 

Of course, she’d need for there to be power and heat if she were to do this on a regular basis. 

“Does this happen a lot? Losing power with the storms?” 

Jughead shook his head. “Pretty rarely, actually. My guess is a tree came down on a power line. We’re remote, for sure, but we definitely enjoy our twenty-first century amenities. It’d be a lot lonelier of an existence without wifi.” 

“What, Hot Dog doesn’t make a great companion to play FIFA 2016?” Betty asked, reading the name off one of the video game stacks. 

“Damn the lack of opposable thumbs,” Jughead sighed dramatically. Hot Dog lifted his head briefly at hearing his name but decided it wasn’t more important than his nap. “I didn’t use to stay up here year-round,” he said by way of explanation. “So it took a while to make it liveable. My buddy complained that there wasn’t anything to do the first time he visited so the second time, he showed up with his old Xbox and a crate of games, insisting that I needed to up my skill level if he was going to keep coming up here. There’s an even bigger stack of games in one of these closets. It’s not a bad way to procrastinate through writer’s block though,” he said ruefully.  

Betty smiled at the mental image of Jughead reluctantly playing video games, Hot Dog at his feet and his friend egging him on. The bro version of domesticity. 

“Can’t fault you there,” she giggled. “That seems a little more fun than my method of mindlessly scrolling the internet when I’m procrastinating.” 

“So what are you working on while you’re up here?”

She blinked. She couldn’t remember the last time someone was genuinely curious about her work. Veronica, bless her, was always supportive but never got too involved in the details of her best friend’s journalistic endeavors. And because her social circle was so small, Betty’s conversations were limited to what Veronica and Cheryl were talking about. Her mother would sometimes ask about work, but then hum noncommittally when Betty would excitedly start talking about an assignment. But Jughead was a writer, too. He was asking because he actually cared about the answer she would give. It was refreshing. 

But she was clearly taking too long to answer. “...only if you don’t mind sharing, I mean, I totally get the desire to keep works in progress to yourself. Didn’t mean to pry,” Jughead backtracked quickly, stumbling over his words in what appeared to be an effort to not scare her off. 

“No, no,” she said quickly. “Sorry, just no one usually ever asks. Except my editors.” 

“Don’t apologize for that. Your friends don’t ask about your work? That sounds nice. Sometimes my sister pesters me so much about writing updates that I threaten to not let her read chapters early.” He sipped on his coffee, looking intently at Betty. It made her stomach alight with butterflies. 

“Veronica’s wonderful,” she explained. “But she’s never exactly dying to hear about every single piece of writing I work on.” Jughead raised an eyebrow at her but remained silent. “And Veronica and Cheryl are the extent of my friend group, hence the lack of conversations around my work.” 

“You might need some better friends,” he smirked. Now Betty raised an eyebrow. 

“Veronica is an excellent friend. She might be a lot of personality, but she and Cheryl are good people,” she said vehemently.  

Jughead raised his hands in surrender and Betty returned to sipping on her coffee. “Didn’t mean anything by it, Betts. So are we sharing the assignment with the class or should I just quit while I’m behind?” 

Her stomach did another somersault at the use of the nickname. How on  _ earth  _ was he affecting her this deeply with just one word, let alone a variation on her damn name. This was absurd. 

She took a moment to collect herself and drained the cup of coffee. “It’s a piece on the lack of funding for inner city schools. Nothing groundbreaking because everybody knows the public schools get shit funding. More that I’m exposing the anecdotes and hearing it from the teachers and administrators who are most affected. I talked with one elementary school teacher who uses her own money to buy supplies and books for her classroom because she couldn’t stand her students not having the resources.” 

“Human interest piece with a healthy dose of  _ look what you’ve done  _ guilt. Sounds incredible, Betty. I’d love to read it if you’re willing to share.” There was the intense eye contact again, melting her to her core. 

“Tell you what,” she smiled, shifting her computer into her lap. “If I have any battery left after this round of editing, it’s all yours.” They grinned at each other stupidly, both equally gone for the other. 

 

Betty’s laptop did not last long enough for Jughead to read her article. She squeezed a few hours of work out of the dying battery, sighing when she saw how many pages she still had to go over when the “battery critical” notification popped up on her screen. 

When she looked up, finally breaking her work-induced fugue state, both Jughead and Hot Dog were gone. Figuring they’d gone for a walk, Betty got up and flexed her stiff muscles before poking around the kitchen. Jughead’s stove was also gas-powered and she snagged a few things from the dark fridge that would make a decent meal. Her inner hostess tendencies were showing, and while it wasn’t necessarily the most polite to cook somebody else’s food without asking, she couldn’t image Jughead would mind. Betty had a feeling he was the kind of muscled that meant he consumed an inordinate amount of calories and didn’t  _ actually  _ work out, aside from manual labor. 

And here she was, cooking pasta and sausage in his kitchen and daydreaming about his arm muscles again. She really wanted to find out what they would feel like under her careful touch or wrapped around her body. The strong attraction Betty felt toward him made her a little nervous. Every look or slight touch felt electric and she couldn’t help but hear the voice in the back of her head — the one that sounded uncannily like Veronica — telling her to climb Jughead like a damn tree. 

There was no denying that the attraction was mutual, that much was obvious, but Betty was hesitant to act on it. Jughead seemed like a really genuine, caring guy. He wanted to read her work. He flirted heavily. If there was any potential of creating a friendship out of this, Betty didn’t want to ruin it by jumping his bones and then things getting awkward. Her dating history fell into two extremes: full-on committed relationship for multiple years or brief, intense flings that fizzled out after a week. Betty had been stuck in the pattern of flings prior to her last date from months before and resigned herself as cursed to lose any guy she was vaguely interested in. It was probably safest to just indulge in this flirtation with Jughead, be on her merry way, and then return to her quiet life in Brooklyn and die a spinster. 

The Veronica voice in her head fought back.  _ Put on your big girl panties and suck it up, Betty. You’re not going to die alone, especially when there is a very attractive lumberjack flirting with you.  _

Betty was grumbling to herself when Jughead and Hot Dog burst back in the front door, wind gusting in behind them. 

“Man it is nasty out—” Jughead stopped when he saw Betty in the kitchen. She froze, thinking maybe this had been a step too far. “Whoa. Whatever that is smells incredible.” 

“It’s nothing special,” Betty said sheepishly. 

“Betty Cooper,” Jughead sing-songed, coming toward her and shaking snow off himself. “Food is  _ very special _ . Hasn’t anyone ever told you the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach?” His voice lowered on the last few words, losing the teasing nature and making Betty quake in anticipation. 

They stared each other down heatedly, neither willing to take the leap and close the distance between them. Finally, after what felt like  _ ages _ , Jughead broke the moment by tossing off his gloves and pressing the back of his cold hand to Betty’s exposed forearm, laughing. She shrieked and jumped a mile high at the chill on her skin, though somewhat grateful for the distraction because every other part of her was aflame from the look in Jughead’s eyes. It was a little like he wanted to devour her instead of the pasta she’d made. 

Dinner was full of amiable chatter — Betty told him a little about growing up in Brooklyn, with only vague hints at the tense relationship between her parents and older sister, and her time at Columbia, while Jughead revealed that the cabin he now lived in used to belong to his grandfather and had fallen into disuse until his manuscript was accepted and he needed a place away from his “shithole hometown” in Hudson Valley to get the editing work done. Betty picked up on his deliberate diversions when she pressed for any details about his family and decided to leave well enough alone. Everyone had their skeletons and Betty was no exception. She did manage to wrestle out of him the fact that his novel was loosely based on a real life murder in his hometown, which only increased Betty’s desire to immediately read the book. 

When she told him this, Jughead set his plate down on the floor for Hot Dog to sniff dejectedly at — no leftovers, unlike Betty’s — and disappeared into a room down the hall. Upon his return, he placed a hefty hardcover book into her surprised hands: a copy of  _ Out of the River.  _ “I have more copies than I do friends and family to give them to,” he said casually. The teasing tone of voice was back when their fingertips brushed once again. “I can even sign it if you like.” His wolfish grin was putting dangerously inappropriate thoughts into her head. 

“I bet you use that one on all the ladies,” she teased back. She put on a high-pitched, breathy voice. “Oh, Mr. Jones, I just love your work, you’re so handsome, please sign my book.” 

That look was back in his eyes and Betty knew she was doomed. 

“Handsome, huh?” The look on his face told her she knew exactly what he was doing to her. 

“Don’t let it get to your head, Jug,” she shot back, surprising both of them with the use of a nickname. “We wouldn’t want that ego to inflate or anything.” Betty moved back into the kitchen in an effort to give herself space to catch her breathe and let her hormones chill out, but Jughead followed her. 

He placed a hand on the small of her back as he passed her, taking the pot she was starting to clear from her hands. “Don’t worry about these, Betty. You cooked. The least I can do to return the favor is clean up.” The hand on her back burned through the layers of clothing and Betty wanted so badly for it grip her waist while the other one roamed.  _ God, get a grip,  _ she told herself, trying hard not to stare directly as his mouth as he spoke. 

And then as though he’d read her mind, Jughead placed the pot in the sink and used his free hand to hold her waist, the one on her back sliding to grasp the other side. Betty blinked up at him to see the fire in his eyes, pupils blown wide with what could only be desire. She was sure hers looked the same. 

Breathing deeply and channeling her inner Veronica, Betty lifted her hands to pull Jughead’s face down to her own. Her lips covered his in a heated kiss and his hands tightened instinctively at her waist. Betty sighed happily into his mouth, which gave him the opportunity to slip his tongue past the seam of her lips and swipe a dirty line across the roof of her mouth. She let her hands slide down to his shoulders and she gripped the lean muscles of his back for dear life as her pressed her back into the counter, bowing her over slightly with the force of his mouth against hers. Every inch of Betty’s body felt electrified, like Jughead’s touch was a bolt of lightning running through her veins. 

They broke apart, Betty gasping for air and still clinging to his arms. He trailed an open-mouthed kiss down her jaw. She fisted a hand into Jughead’s long locks, beanie falling to the floor, and breathed out, “Holy shit.” 

Smirking — god  _ damn it,  _ that smirk — he pulled back slightly and released the skin at her pulse point with an audible pop. “ _ Holy shit,  _ indeed.” 

The wind of the storm howled over the noise of their labored breathing. Unable to restrain herself in the presence of his smirk and the sheer want in his eyes, Betty used the counter at her back as leverage to hike both her legs up and around Jughead’s waist. She was already in over her head, so might as well enjoy it. 

She pressed a hot and messy kiss against Jughead’s shocked mouth. He seemed momentarily stunned by her actions and hadn’t quite gotten over the proximity of their hips. With a glint in her eye, she trailed a hand down his chest. 

“Don’t let it get to your head, Jones.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as per usual, please share your thoughts. I thrive on validation.  
> find me on tumbr under the same handle.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm eternally grateful to each and every one of you for leaving comments. I swear I'll respond to them all eventually. 
> 
> long chapter ahead! props and thanks to jandy for beta'ing.
> 
> also this is my first ever try at smut, so be gentle.

It felt like Jughead’s hands were everywhere at once: gripping at the back of her neck, tracing light lines underneath the back of her shirt, sliding down over her ass, and somehow still leading them through the house in the direction of his bedroom. They had to stop every few feet when Betty’s feet, crossed behind his hips, hit a wall or Jughead tripped and they’d freeze in their position, hands roaming across bare skin and lips clashing against each other. The brick inlay of the fireplace bit into Betty’s back where her shirt had rucked up but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was far too distracted by the talented hands unhooking her bra and the trail of kisses Jughead was leaving down the column of her throat. A high-pitched keening fell through her parted lips when he nipped at her collarbone and the noise seemed to spur him on. 

In a flash, Betty’s shirt and bra were gone, and Jughead’s warm hands were palming at her breasts. Desperately, she clawed at his own clothing, trying to get eyes on what she’d been daydreaming about since arriving: his abs. When Betty finally flung away his flannel and undershirt, he closed the space between them yet again, bringing their lips back together for a searing kiss. 

Distracted, Betty gently pushed him back to create space between them. His brow furrowed in confusion and there was a brief flash of disappointment in his eyes before understanding her actions. Betty’s eyes trailed down his bare chest, following the path of her fingers down his lithe chest and over to the ridges of his hip bones. 

Her feather-like touch had him gasping, desperate to return to their frenzied movements if only for any amount of friction that might relieve the insane pressure building in his groin. Betty let her eyes linger pointedly at the growing bulge in his jeans before looking back to his lust-blown eyes. 

She was greeted by his tell-tale smirk. “Like what you see?” he whispered roughly. 

Betty bit her lip because  _ god yes  _ but two could play at this game. “I don’t know, there’s still so much I can’t see.” Her hand only made it as far to slide lightly between the skin of his hips and his pants before Jughead was hauling her back to him. They stumbled backwards through an open doorway, kissing each other senseless until suddenly gravity got the best of them and they landed on a large, unmade bed. 

Chest to chest, and breathing heavily, Betty lifted herself up until she was straddling Jughead’s hips. With a smirk to rival his own, she ground her hips into his, relishing in the deep groan he emitted. He raised himself onto his elbows, staring appreciatively at Betty’s bare chest. “That wasn’t fair,” Jughead said, placing a steadying hand on her still-moving hips. 

“Like what you see?” she teased. 

“God, yes.” And then his mouth was on her chest, nipping lightly before latching on to her nipple and Betty saw stars. She dragged her hands through his thick locks and smiled when her not-so-gentle tugs elicited a groan. His hand on her hip was guiding her through slow grinds while Jughead used the other to palm at her free breast. Betty could feel the telltale heat building low in her stomach as she rolled over the rough material of his jeans. Seeking more friction, she started to move her hips faster, breaking free of the easy rhythm Jughead had built. 

He released her nipple with an audible pop. “Someone’s getting impatient,” he said between hot kisses back up her neck. A hand came up to cradle her face before winding into her hair while he pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “I want to take my time with this.” 

Betty groaned deeply at his teasing touches, going nowhere near where she needed it most. They could take their time  _ later.  _ Trying to convey her sense of urgency, Betty let one of her hands drop to where their hips sat flush against each other and palmed him hard over his jeans. His hips bucked into her hand in response. 

Now she trailed kisses across his jaw before lightly sinking her teeth into his earlobe. “You sure about that?” 

With a growl, Jughead flipped them so Betty lay flat on her back and his chest hovered over her. Their hips were still connected and Betty rolled up into him, giggling. For the briefest of moments, Jughead’s eyes fluttered closed at the sensation. Then the weight of him was gone and his head was above her hips, tugging off her leggings with the same kind of look in his eyes one might have while unwrapping presents. 

Sending a silent prayer to whatever god there was that she’d picked a newer pair of underwear to put on this morning, Betty shivered in anticipated while Jughead freed her of her pants before standing to unbuckle his own. When he was down to just his boxers, Jughead crawled back to her on the bed, letting his hand trail up her inner thighs, teasing just around where she was aching to feel his touch. 

It felt like an eternity before he finally,  _ finally  _ dragged one finger lightly across the damp cotton covering her core and Betty’s hips bucked high off the bed of their own volition. Jughead chuckled lightly into her ear before sucking down the line of her neck and all the way down her chest to meet the fingers teasing at her heat. His warm breath sent a shockwave through her body and Betty whimpered, dying for him to do something about the incredible ache she was feeling. His tongue pressed flat against her soaked panties before he hooked his thumbs around them and yanked them off, replacing his tongue where it had been seconds before and causing Betty to let out a hoarse cry. 

The house could have burned down around them and Betty would have never known. Every nerve ending was on fire as he licked into her, using one hand to steady her hips and the other to trace gentle lines on her inner thigh. The pressure inside her was building at an obscenely quick pace but Betty only cared about how good it felt to have Jughead’s tongue on her. He shifted positions to lap at her bundle of nerves and bring two fingers inside her heat, stroking strong and fast against her. Betty was being loud, embarrassingly so if she were to stop and think about it, which she didn’t. The moans had a mind of their own as she ground her hips into Jughead’s accommodating mouth. He worked her until she was nearly at her release, walls starting to flutter around the endless movements of his fingers, then replaced the tip of his tongue with his lips and sucked hard. Betty turned her head into the sheets as she screamed her orgasm, hips twitching as Jughead brought her down and kissed his way back to her face. 

“Christ,” she mumbled into his lips, tasting herself on him and trailing her own hands back to his hips. She was spacey from her release but that didn’t stop her from pushing at the waistband of his boxers until she felt his erection spring free against the flushed skin of her hips. It had been pretty apparent from the outline in his boxers, but feeling him pressed bare against her only confirmed Betty’s suspicions that Jughead’s muscles weren’t the only impressive things he was packing. 

They continued to make out furiously, Betty running her hands up and down his muscular back while he bit at her bottom lip and soothed it with his tongue. All too soon, Betty needed more friction where their hips met but weren’t yet joined and she ground into Jughead impatiently. He groaned low in his throat and pinched at her nipple before trailing hot kisses across her collarbone again. More than ready to take things into her own hands — literally and figuratively — Betty ran one hand down to squeeze his ass and the other snuck between them to brush against his hardened member. He sucked in air in response, revelling in the feeling of her hot hand wrapped around him. 

Then he pulled back suddenly. “Fuck.” 

Betty’s mouth was on his chest, her tongue swirling patterns into his sculpted pecs. “Yes, that’s the general idea.” 

He rolled off her, groaning in both annoyance and lust. The absence of his weight on her made Betty whine and she nearly immediately swung a leg over his, dick still in her hand. She grasped him and pumped two times in quick succession. “No,” he said, strangled somewhat by the unbearable pleasure of her hands on him. “Fuck because I don’t have condoms.” 

Betty’s grasp loosened slightly, but she still didn’t let go. “ _ Oh.”  _ Every part of her body was screaming at her to keep going, her kiss-swollen lips, throbbing core, and the hand wrapped around his hard length. Then the small voice in the back of her head -- the distinctly  _ Betty  _ one, not Veronica’s — reminded her that she was relatively terrible at taking her birth control on time. Fuck, indeed. 

But there were alternatives. Betty made to start kissing down Jughead’s chest in the direction of where her hand lay. There certainly was nothing wrong with a little reciprocal head, just the disappointment of no actual sex after all this lead up. 

“Wait,” she said, thinking back to their earlier conversations. “Any chance your video game friend brought some up here?” 

Jughead’s eyes widened in thought and he sprang up from the bed, disappearing for a moment. Before Betty could even begin to miss the hardness in her hand or the mouth on her neck, he was back, cheering quietly. 

“God bless Archie Andrews and his man-whoring tendencies,” Jughead smirked, holding up a foil packet. In as much time as it took her to smile, Jughead was on top of her again, ripping the condom open with his teeth. He placed a steadying hand on her hip, leaning down to take her mouth into a bruising kiss, and thrust into her. Betty gasped at the fullness and delicious relief on finally having him inside her. “God, you feel incredible,” he groaned into her ear, nipping lightly at it. 

And then he was moving, rocking into her slowly as he latched onto her neck in a way that was sure to leave a mark. They stayed that way, hips rising to meet each other in lazy thrusts, until Betty lightly scratched her nails up Jughead’s lower back in a way that seemed to ignite a fire in him. His movements sped up, losing their rhythm but building Betty up the hill to another release. When he could feel her start to tremble around him, he pressed his thumb into the space between them, rubbing tight circles as his hips stuttered into her. In almost no time at all, she came with a cry and bit into his shoulder to muffle the sound. Jughead was mere moments behind, driving into her with a force that made Betty’s eyes roll back in pleasure. 

They collapsed, sated and breathing heavily. 

“Well that was  _ something, _ ” he said, pressing a lazy kiss into her hair before rolling off the bed to clean up and grab the blankets off the floor. 

“I’ll say,” Betty replied, giddily smiling up at the ceiling. “Thank goodness I had Veronica’s  _ hot lumberjack neighbor  _ to warm me up in a power outage.” 

Snorting, Jughead dove back on top of her, his warm body calming the goosebumps that had started to rise as her body slowly acclimated to the temperature. “We may at least want to relocate in front of the fire so we don’t freeze to death having sex.” 

“Oh, but what a way to go,” she giggled. Moving suddenly, Jughead scooped up both her and the pile of blankets, depositing them back on the warm hearth. Semi-clothed and huddled under flannel, they lay staring into the dancing flames before succumbing to rounds two and three in their cocoon of blankets, and eventually falling asleep wrapped in each other’s arms. 

 

The next time Betty woke, she was much warmer. Jughead’s heated limbs were tangled with her own on the couch in his living room, his breath warm on the back of her neck. Her feet were toasty, albeit a little numb, which was due to the fact that Hot Dog had joined them at one end of the couch. It was a decidedly cozy way to wake up. 

A stillness hung about the air, which took Betty a few moments to realize was the absence of howling wind. The storm must have finally blown through the tiny, wooded town. The fire Jughead had started earlier and kept going through most of the night had burned down to glowing embers. It needn’t have mattered, she thought, noticing that a lamp in the corner glowed brightly in the dark morning. The power had come back and, with it, the heat.

She sighed quietly, turning back into Jughead’s chest and pulling the blankets up over her shoulder. Power meant back to work and her looming deadline, and no more creative ways to stay warm with the attractive man whose (very talented) hands rested around her hips. Betty in no way, shape or form wanted to go back to her reality.  

Although the reality of her exact current situation was that two people and a large sheepdog did not fit very comfortably on the couch. Groaning inwardly, Betty pushed herself up and searched for her socks in the pile of discarded clothes they had kept putting back on and then subsequently removing the night before. Her feet were cold without the sheepdog’s warm fur. Padding into the kitchen, Betty saw the remnants of her cooking and flushed when she remembered her boldness at the kitchen counter. She liked how daring and bold Jughead made her, and it certainly made for some explosive sex. They  _ clicked,  _ both in and out of the bedroom and it had been an incredible change of pace from her city life. 

She laughed to herself as she dug around for coffee supplies, envisioning the reaction Veronica would have when she shared the details of what was supposed to be just a working trip. Betty briefly wondered if the Lodges might let her borrow the cabin for  _ all  _ of her pressing deadlines. But that was silly. Jughead had said he moved up here to get away from the chaos of the world, surely he didn’t want a city girl interrupting his solitude every few weeks. She quickly shoved the daydream of working on her articles from the comfort of Jughead’s house, his arms around hers on the couch, from her mind. Betty met him three days ago — what was she doing thinking of cozy couple-y things after one night (one  _ amazing night _ ) in bed together? 

A muffled yawn from the couch saved Betty from spiraling too far into her thoughts and Jughead soon joined her in the kitchen. He wore one of the blankets around him like a cape and wrapped it around her as well while giving her a bear hug and dropping a light kiss on her temple. She tried not to flush at the affectionate gesture, but that didn’t stop her stomach from fluttering. 

She decided to test the waters, unsure where they stood after the previous night’s activities. “I figured I’d make us some coffee before I go back next door to finish working.” 

“Or,” Jughead said, with hint of nervousness. “You could stay over here and work while I ply you with espressos all day.” 

This time she didn’t care about blushing. Betty turned to face him with a smile, “That sounds like an excellent plan.” 

 

The day went on in almost exactly the same way as the previous, only with heat and Jughead-supplied espressos while she worked. Betty tried very hard to not think of how it lined up so perfectly with her daydream of always working toward deadlines in Jughead’s house. It was a comforting, settled way to work. 

After she waded her way through more edits and made some final tweaks based on her editor’s feedback, Betty sighed in relief and stretched her limbs. Across the room, Jughead was reading and absentmindedly scratching Hot Dog’s head. 

“Still feel like reading this, Jug?” 

He looked up, grinning. “Absolutely.”

She couldn’t help but smile widely in return. Jughead made her feel both like she was on fire and at peace. Who would have thought that she’d stumble into great sex with someone who  _ liked her work  _ and wanted to discuss it, just because of Veronica Lodge? 

“Promise to wait to read it until after I leave, at least? I get too self-conscious watching someone read my writing when I’m right in front of them.” It slipped out before she could stop herself and Betty thought she saw Jughead’s smile falter slightly. She certainly hadn’t wanted the glaring reminder that their time together was nearly up. Her initial plan was to leave for Brooklyn the next day. They could always spend another night together, but would that ruin the perfect memory of the past 36 hours? 

“I get that,” Jughead answered. “I guess we’ll just have to talk about it the next time you come up to work through a deadline.” The smirk came back and Betty’s momentary anxiety melted away. Whatever  _ this  _ was becoming, they both seemed to not want to let it go just yet. 

“I could get used to having all my deadline rushes go as well as this one,” Betty teased. “I think Hot Dog might be my lucky charm or something.” 

“Oh, really?” Jughead lifted himself out of the chair and sauntered toward her, grinning wickedly. “And here I thought it was my espresso machine.” He closed the distance between them and captured Betty in a searing kiss, running his tongue over the seam of her lips. She sighed into him, letting her laptop fall to the ground and dragging him down to the couch. 

Betty kissed him back thoroughly, revelling in the unexpected happiness this trip had brought her. 

“Guess I’ll just have to keep coming back until we figure out precisely what it is.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, this chapter is a doozy. It is also ~technically~ the last official chapter, but I will eventually post an epilogue of sorts. Upping the chapter counts so y'all know more is coming and don't revolt for vague-ness. 
> 
> as always, comments are my lifeblood.   
> you can find me on tumblr under the same handle.


	5. epilogue

Jughead paced the block, scowling at the door of the apartment building across the street. He’d arrived in front of it about twenty minutes prior and was currently talking himself into actually walking through it and climbing the stairs to 3F. Drumming up the courage to do something as simple as knocking on a damn door was a lot more difficult than he had anticipated. 

_ But  _ he had already suffered the immense embarrassment of calling up Veronica Lodge to ask for Betty’s address in the first place, so if he didn’t use it to his advantage it was his own damn fault. Naturally, he had choked so hard upon arrival that he’d been walking the same Brooklyn city block for nearly half an hour. Anyone looking out their window had to assume he was some crazed stalker. 

Which he  _ wasn’t  _ even though he felt like one. Veronica would have refused him the information if the request had been too creepy. Jughead had correctly assumed Betty would have shared details (hopefully not the sordid ones) of their weekend together with his sometimes-neighbor; if Betty had given her any sort of inclination she wasn’t interested in seeing him again, Veronica would not just let him show up on her doorstep. 

Or so he hoped, anyway. 

Several weeks had passed since the weekend Jughead’s entire life had been turned upside down by the gorgeous blonde with a whip-smart tongue and legs to die for. He hadn’t been able to keep Betty Cooper out of his mind since she’d left Old Forge and he’d been forced to resume his quiet, bachelor-in-the-woods life—much as he was loathe to admit it. 

Consumed with the thought of seeing her again—not just for sex, though that had been goddamn mind-blowing—Jughead called his publishing agent and moved up their quarterly in-person meeting by nearly two months. Jughead thanked him for being so accommodating and hadn’t quite expected the enthusiastic response: “Far be it from me not to rearrange my schedule for my only bestselling author, especially one who actively hates all of the praise he receives and therefore usually dodges my calls. Bring down whatever you’re working on whenever you want and I’ll happily hand over my firstborn.” 

Jughead waited until he was already on his way down to the city before calling Veronica, not wanting to appear too eager. Not that he cared about literally anyone’s opinions. But if this—whatever  _ this  _ was—went well, the last thing he wanted was Betty’s formidable best friend to think less of him. So he had driven through Albany to drop Hot Dog off with his sister, as always, and schooled his voice into the picture of casualty when talking with Veronica through speakerphone as he barrelled down I-87. 

“ _ Just coming down for a publishing thing,  _ mhmm. Sure, Jughead. Whatever you say,” she’d teased archly. 

Recognizing that she didn’t believe a single one of his protests, Jughead eventually relented with as few details as he could get away with:  _ yes,  _ he and Betty had “connected” during her trip, and  _ yes  _ he had a thing for her,  _ yes  _ he had a thing to the point where he wanted to surprise her at her doorstep in Brooklyn. He half expected Veronica to ruin the whole plan and clue in Betty to his intent, but nothing appeared to have gone wrong thus far. Except for his complete inability to just nut up and go knock on her apartment door. 

Despite the fact that they had shared such an intense connection and beautiful moment, an admittedly loud voice in the back of Jughead’s mind was repeatedly trying to convince him it had been just the heat of the moment and that Betty had merely been politely humoring him when she whispered “next time” into his ear all those weeks ago. After one more pace around the block, muttering to himself the entire way, Jughead finally landed in front of the door to Betty’s building. Mercifully, the entrance was somewhat hidden by the front door of a chiropractic healing center and unlocked, so he didn’t have to take his chances with the buzzer. 

He needn’t have worried because after another few moments of quietly chastising himself for being too cowardly to just knock on her apartment door it appeared that there were no signs of movement in the unit. Jughead sighed heavily and leaned his back against the solid wood of the door, sliding down until he crouched against the floor. This is what he got for being spontaneous: he tried to surprise the girl of his dreams and she wasn’t even home to be surprised. God damn it all. Despite his natural instinct to pack it in and go back to his truck to flee home, Jughead settled for opening the email with his agent’s feedback, squinting at the small typeface on his phone screen and trying to distract himself as best he could. 

At some point, he must have dozed off, only awakening when a door down the hall slammed especially hard (no doubt trying to dislodge the strange man from his awkward perch in front of a clearly empty apartment). Rubbing the back of his neck, Jughead checked the time on his phone and fell the bottom drop out from his stomach when the clock showed him he’d been waiting for Betty for nearly three hours. One of two things must have happened: Betty came home to find him, creepy loner Jughead Jones, at her door and fled in the opposite direction, or Veronica called to warn Betty of his imminent arrival and Betty was waiting him out somewhere uptown. Either way, Jughead felt foolish beyond belief. The sounds of traffic outside, muffled slightly by the thick cinder block walls, echoed in his head tauntingly. He cursed himself for being so naive as to think a woman like Betty Cooper—beautiful, kind, sharp-witted Betty Cooper who had dropped unexpectedly into his quiet life and made him reconsider his opinions on city life and pretty seemingly-perfect blondes—would ever disrupt her life for someone like him. 

Someone churlish and constantly grumpy, who never liked to talk to people, someone who—

“Jug?” 

He blinked. A vision in pink stood before him: Betty Cooper swallowed in a pale pink quilted coat that might as well have doubled for a sleeping bag, cheeks flushed from the cold, and green eyes open in bewildered confusion. 

Scrambling to his feet, Jughead brought himself back to reality and struggled against the urge to move forward and grab her face between his hands. He settled for shoving his hands into his coat pockets and grinned bashfully. 

“So I, uh, I had a meeting with my agent in the city and I called Veronica to get your—” 

In a flash, Betty’s mouth was on his and Jughead lost all sense of coherency as her lips slid hotly over his and his hands moved to undo the zipper of her coat. He found purchase on her hips, gripping tightly as he mouthed down the column of her neck, biting slightly at her pulse point and laving over the mark with his tongue when she emitted a high-pitched keen. Betty twisted in his grip, ostensibly to unlock her door before he decided to fuck her right then and there in the hallway, and the pair stumbled through the entryway, unwilling to let go of each other while they kissed and latched onto any patch of reachable bare skin. 

Betty’s pink coat hit the floor, followed by her soft sweater and Jughead’s shearling jacket, then boots and socks and pants, until Betty was down to her pale blue bra and underwear set, panting heavily underneath his touch and grinding her hips up into his own. 

“God, I missed you,” he growled into her collarbone. 

She raked her nails over the bare skin of his muscled back, arching into his burning touch. “Oh you have no idea,” Betty whispered back harshly. 

Unable to restrain himself from her heated touch any longer, Jughead bit into the delicate skin of her neck and entered her in one swift movement. Her soft gasps echoed in his ears as they moved and fell apart together, desperately clinging to each other in a moment of aching need. 

 

Jughead trailed his fingers lightly over the soft curves of Betty’s bare back, tracing patterns into her skin while he murmured quietly into her ear: “I never stopped thinking about you,” “I don’t want to let you go,” and “we both write, we can make a living and never even leave this bed.” 

Stretching, deliciously sated, and more content than she was willing to admit, Betty smiled widely and kissed the smirk off Jughead’s face. “Well, we’d probably have to leave for groceries on occasion. Staying in bed all day like this might necessitate some nutrition.” 

The air in the room around them was alive with electricity and their grins were infectious; Jughead couldn’t imagine ever going back to a world where he didn’t have this woman beside him. “For one,” he laughed. “I know at the very least, we’d have my agent and Veronica on board with this plan. I thought she was going to ruin my whole elaborate surprise before I even showed up. And then I barely escaped the publishing office with my limbs intact.” 

“Poor Jug,” Betty teased, with an exaggerated pout on her kiss-swollen lips. “In such high demand with  _ all the ladies.”  _

“I only answer one lady’s demands,” he retorted, rolling back over Betty’s naked body and kissing her deeply. 

When they finally broke apart, Betty gasping for breath and Jughead growing hard again, Jughead met her gaze in a serious moment. He brushed his thumb in light circles against her cheek and she shivered beneath him. 

“So what now, Betts?” 

She reached up to brush her fingers through the tangle of curls at his forehead, allowing herself the moment to think. They both knew what lay before them, it was just a matter of voicing the words. 

“Now, we make this work.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe we're drawing to a close on this! I really had an amazing time with this universe and I am so glad so many of you came along for the ride. Thank you thank you to @jandjsalmon for being my beta on this journey! 
> 
> As always, your comments & feedback mean the world to me, so please leave some!  
> Find me on tumblr under the same handle.

**Author's Note:**

> Always love to hear your thoughts. I thrive on the specific validation that only ao3 kudos/comment emails can bring. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under the same handle.


End file.
